


Ruri's Story

by Freakenstein_Girl



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Female Mutou Yuugi, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Pre-Canon, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freakenstein_Girl/pseuds/Freakenstein_Girl
Summary: Going back to the proverbial source in fem stories - how much would a character, in this case Yuugi's, life really change from the first moments of birth if he had been born a girl? A day by day look at a female Yuugi's life as she grows into a teenager. Updated frequently in bursts.
Kudos: 6





	1. Start of Life

Chapter One: Start of Life

Life started with pressure. Pressure from all sides in the darkness, fluid slowly draining out. I was pushed, and then pushed, and then pushed again. After hours where it felt like I was being compressed from all sides, finally I came out into blinding bright lights and a loud explosion of sounds, damp everywhere.

The sound of loud, ragged female screaming, a woman's, slowly broke into deep breaths and sobs. I would only learn later on in life that my mother was Japanese. In spite of the wealth of pain-numbing technology available to them in the twenty-first century, Japanese mothers were strong advocates of natural pregnancy, labor, and childbirth. They did it the old-fashioned way, and doing a pregnancy "well" — focusing all their attention and hard work on it — was considered a point of pride for a coming mother.

Once my head had emerged, a strong suctioning device was placed over my nose and mouth and all the mucus was sucked out of me. Then my shoulders and torso were slid out. I was placed on a woman's belly, she was heaving deep breaths, and the umbilical cord was clamped and then cut. Hands as large as I was in my nudity rubbed me to get me going. I took a deep breath and burst into wails.

Sounds of delight filled the room around me.

"It's a girl," a nurse said to my mother in Japanese. "You have a daughter."

I heard sobbing, laughing sounds of delight — from more than one person, not just my mother; there were other people in the room. "A little girl," said a man's voice in wonder. Then, a gruff, much older man, his voice filled with pride: "… I have a granddaughter."

I heard it all over my infant wailing.

I felt the warmth of my mother's skin as she lowered her hospital gown and cuddled me close to her. As I let the sounds of somehow familiar voices wash over me, my crying and my wails faded and I settled to suckling on the nearest food source available to me — my mother's breast.

"She has that dark fuzz for newborn hair," my mother murmured. "That means her hair will stay dark as she gets older. But the slate-colored eyes — that means the eyes will be a lighter color as she gets older."

A doctor's voice rang out. "Day and time of birth, June 4th, 1:07 pm. Birthplace, Shimane Flower Village, Japan."

I would learn later that my mother grew up in Shimane. All Japanese women went home for their child's birth, in what was called "satogaeri shussan" tradition. So though my family lived in Japan's Domino City, I was born in Shimane Flower Village.

"Primary caregiver: Mother, Mutou Akiko." The primary caregiver was always the mother in Japan, never the father. Japanese women rarely went back to work after childbirth and motherhood was widely considered the most important work they would ever accomplish. My mother's given name was Akiko, but her surname was given first, my father's name. Japan was a very collectivistic culture — family was considered more important to know than given name. "Name…

"What name would you like to give your daughter?"

"We were going to let my father — her grandfather — decide," said my father's voice.

"I chose a list of names based on my little shop back at home — it sells games and antiques. Accordingly, I picked names associated with wisdom, cleverness, and rare items," said Grandpa. "I almost chose Yuugi, which literally means 'game,' but Yuugi seems more like a boy's name and I wanted her to be her own person, uniquely a girl.

"So… Chikako means 'clever.' Kameyo means 'tortoise,' a creature associated with wisdom and also the symbol of my shop. Shinju means 'pearl.' Ruri means 'emerald.' Nyoko means 'treasure.' Nui means 'tapestry.' Takara means 'treasure.' Tama means 'jewel.' Tomoko means 'child of wisdom.' Kyoko means 'mirror,' a kind of rare item. Kazashi means 'ornament,' a huge part of traditional Japanese dress. Kagami means 'mirror.' Gin means 'silver.' Chieko means 'wise, graceful.' Aya means 'full of color,' which covers both my shop and the beauty of antiques pretty neatly. Aimi speaks to that more directly — it means 'beautiful.'

"What do you two think?" There was a smile in my Grandpa's voice.

"I like Shinju," said my father thoughtfully. "And Ruri."

"I like Ruri," my mother murmured warmly, reverently. "Emerald. I want to name my daughter emerald."

"Ruri it is," said my grandfather, and there was a shift of clothing as he turned to the doctor. "Mutou Ruri. Care of Mutou Akiko. Daughter of Mutou Hideyashi, granddaughter of Mutou Sugoroku. Female. Born June 4th, 1:07 pm, Shimane Flower Village, Japan."

"Got it," said the doctor's voice.

"We put the umbilical cord in a special box for you, Mother." And the nurse, with a smile in her voice, made a small sound like a box was being placed on the table by my mother's bed. All mothers kept their children's umbilical cords. Some took them out to show the children on special occasions as they grew older. It was a sign of bonding, connectivity, and life between mother and child.

"I've been texting all our family and friends. Your friend from back at home, Momo, she did an astrological reading of your child's birth chart and positively demands that you know what it is," said Grandpa in a tone of high amusement. "She says to tell you — and I have no idea what any of this means — Sun in Gemini, Moon in Cancer, Rising Sign in Libra, Mercury in Cancer, Venus in Gemini, and Mars in Taurus."

"Hm. That's a good reading. It's a very good reading," said my mother thoughtfully. Fortune-telling, popular in women's magazines, was by that age considered mostly a female purview.

Eventually, after my feeding, I was taken from my mother and tested in all sorts of odd ways with medical equipment. I was given a rub-down, a band attached to my ankle and my wrist, I was given eye ointment, weighed — I cried the whole time, confused and alarmed and not knowing how else to express my feelings — and then finally I was wrapped up in clothes, socks, and blankets. They were all blue, dotted in little flower patterns; blue was considered a feminine color in Japanese culture, and flowers were seen as a feminine symbol.

I was given a bit more time in some calm with my family, then I cried again as I was taken from my mother's arms by a strange and unfamiliar doctor. "It's all right, Ruri-chan, we both have to be brave, okay?" she said in a high, concerned voice, but she sounded exhausted. I heard from vocal sounds that my father had followed the doctors down the hall and onto a metallic table with strange lights overhead. What followed — my first pediatric exam and routine vaccine procedures — was frightening and confusing. They were using modern medicine to strengthen the chances that I would not die, but all I knew was that I was being pressed by metal instruments and stuck with needles.

What followed calmed me down a great deal. My clothes were taken off, and my father's soft, warm hands were achingly gentle as he gave me my first bath. In Japan, this was considered the purview of the father, since the mother already got in skin to skin contact through the breastfeeding process.

I was wrapped back up in my soft blue flower patterned clothes, and blankets, and taken back down the hall to my mother's hospital room. My bed had been placed there, as had a sofa bed and cot for my father and grandfather.

Japanese families stuck together, and that first week, we all — my grandfather Sugoroku, father Hideyashi, mother Akiko, and I — all co-slept in the same room. That way my mother could come over and breastfeed me whenever she liked. And that was all I did that first week in my mother's recovery room: feed from my mother, have my diaper changed, get bathed by my father or grandfather, and go back to sleep.

"Ruri-chan," everyone always murmured as they took turns holding me, and then I could see up above me their faces as they smiled and waved. "Hello, Ruri-chan!"

Even in childhood, the suffix '-chan,' which denoted sweetness and cuteness and love, was much more acceptable on a girl.

My grandfather had a bandana over his head and a ticklish beard of silver hair. My father had glasses and light-colored hair, a serious, stern face that whenever he saw his newborn daughter would soften into a smile. My mother had a bob of purple hair and an expressive face that always beamed when she saw me. I learned to recognize each of their voices.

Me in their arms, that first week in the hospital, Ruri with the dark, fuzzy newborn hair and the slate-colored eyes.


	2. Oshichiya

Chapter Two: Oshichiya

The first time I was taken out of Shimane Village General Hospital, in my mother's arms, it was to see Shimane Flower Village for the first time. On a beautiful summer's day, the long, sprawling, old-fashioned Japanese compounds — with pointed roofs, raised flooring, rice paper screens and bamboo wood — were dotted among the endless fields of beautiful, colorful flowers. Tiny cafes and tourist shops dotted the landscape.

My parents strapped me into the back of the car in my child's car seat, very carefully, and they drove very slow as they left their parking space in front of the hospital, continuously looking behind themselves to check and make sure I was okay. My grandfather sat next to me in the back seat of the car, entertaining me by making silly faces, as we rode through the streets and out of Shimane Flower Village, out onto Shimane Peninsula. We passed by the sparkling sea, blue-green and serene and calm on this day, and then we turned inland at our first set of mountains, passing long green fields of farming and rice paddies before making our way through the city of Izumo, then through the city of Unnan. After Unnan, we turned out towards the sea again and there we hit Domino City — a major port city.

Out the car window, tall rectangular metallic buildings crowded streets next to smaller shops with colorful rice paper lanterns. Cars zoomed past us, people crowded the sidewalks and major crosswalk intersections of every street, modern technology and neon lighting were everywhere, along with the pervasive smell of a strong, bracing sea breeze.

We parallel parked next to the sidewalk in front of Kame Games, and got out of the car. I was unstrapped, and carried by my father, my grandfather beaming proudly, up the steps to Kame Games, a small, colorful shop which had an upper story that bulged like a pregnant woman. We unlocked the door and with the tinkling of a bell we entered. Inside the shop, every inch of shelving was stuffed to bursting with strange artifacts, glittering antiques, and obscure, exotic games and puzzles. Behind countless glittering cases of glass shelving was more of the same. The air was quiet and dusty, tingled with a secret kind of magic, and the walls were decorated with dark red velvet drapes spread with a spangled star pattern, making the place seem magical and dim, the recesses shadowy.

"Welcome to my shop, Kame Games, Ruri-chan," Grandpa said proudly. "Welcome home."

We walked into the shadowy back of the store, lit only by the sunlight coming from the glass panes of the front door, and mounted a hidden staircase to the second floor. The flat above the shop — this was where my whole family lived, me, my Mom and Dad, and my Grandpa.

"I'm a middle-ranking company man, a merchant, Ruri-chan, and your Grandpa is a shopkeeper, so we all live together up here," my father narrated as we made it to the second floor. He took me down a long hallway, took a left, and we entered another enclosed hallway lined with doors, vases of flowers, and family photos on walls. "This is Mommy and Daddy's room… this is Grandpa's room… these are the two guest bedrooms… and this is the living room and the kitchen." We stopped in the middle of a living room full of aging, soft grey suede furniture that led into a sunny yellow DIY-decorated kitchenette with a warm, round wood table and Western-style chairs.

My mother took me and led me to the back window. "See down there?" she said, and supported me, tilting my head down to look at a metal tub out back in an alley by some trash cans. The tub was full to bursting with flowering plants. "That's my herbs, flowers, and vegetable garden, Ruri-chan. Maybe someday you can help me with it!"

My parents took me and led me into their bedroom, where I would be sleeping. My crib, changing table, and belongings had a corner to themselves. My parents had themed all my new clothing, toys, mobiles, nightlights, and crib decorations in a curious mix of nautical themes and panda bear themes. A sea-themed blanket was set with a stuffed panda bear, and on my wall was a painted bamboo forest leading down into an underwater scene of a pond filled with koi fish. My parents set me down, put up with my fussing, and got me changed as outside there were the sounds of my Grandpa arranging some things with clutters and bangs.

By the time we were finished, guests had begun arriving, a vast round of talking and commotion out in the living space. Today, June 12th, was my Oshichiya — my naming ceremony, a necessity after any childbirth in Japan.

Dressed all in white, I was carried out into the crowds of family and friends gathered in the living room to a huge and overwhelming round of cheering, smiles, and applause. Outside on the living room windows, rain streaked down the panes. I had been born smack in the middle of tsuyu, Japan's hot, humid rainy season, and it was amazing the weather had held long enough for us to make it home in the first place.

My new name — Ruri — had been displayed prominently on a wall of the living room, in fancy typed calligraphy on a huge poster called a Meimeisho, all in katakana — the fancier cousin of hiragana writing. I was set in a little seat below the meimeisho, dressed all in white, seven days old, and everyone gathered around me and lined up, taking turns presenting gifts. It was exciting meeting all these new faces, but each one cooed at me and beamed at me and went into endless squeals of, "Hello, Ruri-chan!" enchanted by the new tiny little girl, and it did become a bit exhausting after a while. "You'll be a good girl, right?" "I bet you'll be very pretty!"

My parents had opted not to know my sex ahead of time, so now — the first round of gift-giving after I was born — these were the first truly feminine-themed presents. Anyone who didn't give Shugibukuro — a fancy monetary envelope — gave me a gift, personalized because this was an important day for me. The Japanese had over two hundred occasions for gift giving each year, but in most cases people exchanged something small and practical — food ingredients, household items. This, the day of a child's birth, was not one of those times.

I received beautiful dream houses and unicorn fantasy toys, boxes of sweets and little pieces of jewelry. I received cute pink rain boots, adorable little stuffed frogs with painted-on eyelashes to signify femininity, my first female kimono (one in yellow checkers with a salmon pink obi sash, one in white with red polka dots all over, one with a black and pink flower pattern and a lemonade pink and hot pink obi sash), and a black umbrella with a blue sky and fluffy white cloud pattern inside. In clothing, I received pieces patterned in cute yellow ducks, ladybug onesies, decorative flower dresses, cute little over-sweaters in soft pastel colors, onesies with intricate colorful floral patterns, and in one case a pink overall dress with a small, cutesy black heart and rabbit ears. Polka dots and checkered skirts also abounded.

By the time it was all over, I was exhausted and sleepy. My mother held me and breastfed me, then I was set on a blanket off to the side as extra chairs were brought out and the entire party all crowded into the kitchen, eating a celebratory dinner. Two auspicious dishes were on the menu: Seikhan (or red rice) and Tai (or sea bream). They held each individual bowl close to their lips, using the long, straight chopsticks to funnel the food into their mouths, talking to one another in animated Japanese.

I slowly fell asleep watching that — and that was how I spent my first true day, my Oshichiya, the day I was first introduced to the world.


	3. Family Life and First Father's Day

Chapter Three: Family Life and First Father's Day

My father returned to work at his company job, working for a car manufacturer, during the day. He would leave for work and return home in the early evening. My mother had one year off of unpaid maternal leave under Japanese law, assuming she decided to go back to her work as a university teacher at all — a lot of mothers didn't. My Grandpa opened his shop on the floor below back up and started running it again.

My family must have been truly exhausted, those first few months. I cried at odd hours of the day and night, demanding feedings and changing, and I had no set sleep schedule yet. My mother pumped breast milk ahead of time so that sometimes my father could get up in the middle of the night to feed me in her stead. Both my parents wore loose traditional robes called yukata during the summer months to bed, because they were light and airy, so my mother or father would appear exhausted over my crib in a yukata with a diaper or a bottle of breast milk at the ready.

I wasn't an easy baby, at first. I spit up all the time and I had colic — constant, never-ending crying that seemed to have no defined source. It was gone by the end of the first month, but until then, many hours of the day I was deeply unpleasant to be around, fussy and funny. My default response to all things was to get quiet. Whenever I heard a sudden bang or a loud noise, I would suddenly go totally silent. Sometimes my mother would make a loud noise just to get the chance to calm me down.

I didn't like strangers. At first, my Grandpa made a big spectacle of showing off his newborn baby granddaughter to incoming shop customers. He would watch me from the clerk's desk while he was minding the store, me on a blanket beside him. But strangers made high pitched noises of "Ruri-chan" and "good little girl" and "so pretty" and they were very touchy. I hated strangers and I hated being touched, and I announced it loudly — by crying.

My Grandpa quickly learned to leave me upstairs with my Mom during shop days.

Over those first weeks, there were a lot of firsts. The first time I lifted and turned my head during one of my supervised "tummy times." The first time I brought my hands reaching out to a face above me. The first time I started cooing. The first time I held my head steady when I was held upright. The first time I brought both hands together in a clap. The first time I smiled in response to someone else's smile.

The first time I smiled spontaneously — that was a big one. My whole family was gathered above me in the living room, and when I smiled there was immediately a huge swell of cheering and high-pitched excitement throughout the room. I reacted to the noise, predictably… by bursting into wails again. My family sagged in despair.

But easily the most exciting thing that happened that first month was Father's Day.

We celebrated both Dad and Grandpa on Father's Day. Mom sat me up with her at the kitchen table while each man unwrapped a present — A container of unagi, or eel, for Grandpa, because this was a rare delicacy and only bought as a special luxury treat, packed in a celebratory box inscribed with a simple and thoughtful message. A jinbei, or casual style of kimono robe, accompanied by a traditional uchiwa fan, for Dad, with "Thank You Dad" written on the inscription of the wrapping paper. We had breakfast, my Mom spent a few minutes on her laptop writing emotional announcement posts for both men on her digital, online technology social media page — accompanied by newborn pictures — for the benefit of all her follower family and friends on their own devices, and then she shut down her laptop and we all went out for the day. It was still tsuyu, and pouring hot, humid rain.

My father was a traditionalist and a huge fan of Japan's traditional arts — ikebana, or arranging plants in a kind of sculpture, or tea ceremony, a spiritual preparation of Japan's famous matcha green tea, or even calligraphy. But those were a bit too quiet and stately for a tiny baby to attend, so instead he asked to go to a museum specializing in space exploration, computer science, and astronomy. He wore a simple button-up white shirt with the shirtsleeves rolled up, and khaki pants. My Mom, who wore a sweater and a long purple skirt, leaned close to me and joked, "Just to warn you, no parent is 'cool' to their kid in Japan." My father smiled faintly and rolled his eyes.

My Grandpa, who wore his usual overalls and bandana stubbornly everywhere he went, loved going out for drinks with old friends who played his favorite board game — shougi — along with fishing, gambling, traveling, and visiting the natural hot spring onsen that appeared naturally all over Japan for a long, leisurely soak. All of those were out for one reason or another — babies didn't go to onsen, fishing was too outdoorsy for tsuyu, traveling was too expensive, and my Mom refused to stand around while Grandpa drank, played shougi, and played gambling poker games with his friends. So instead Grandpa asked that we go to a theme park where there were plenty of indoor spaces. We ended up going to a theme park that was a miniature village. People paid to come through and experience Japanese town life from the Edo period — over a hundred years ago, when the samurai warriors still ruled. We rented costumes and then walked around in traditional kimono style robes, through places that showed how period craftsmen such as blacksmiths used to work, through wax museums that showed grim torture and prison life, through a supposed haunted temple filled with Japanese spirits and demons, through a house of illusions where the walls seemed to bend and balls to roll uphill, and then we went to watch a slightly hokey theater show called Grand Ninja Battle, between supposed ninja warriors from times of old. The moves were all overdramatic and overblown, but everyone laughed, clapped, and cheered and it was great fun to watch.

The atmosphere was contagious. Even I was in a good mood that Father's Day.

By the time the month was over, tsuyu was ending and the true, hot part of summer was just beginning. But there was something else my family had planned for me. At one month old, I was due for my first visit to a Shinto shrine — and a ritual called Omiyamairi.


	4. Omiyamairi

Chapter Four: Omiyamairi

Our local Shinto shrine was approached by a stone walking pathway lined with greenery, which led to an arching bridge over a trickling, running creek. On the other side was the shrine, traditional and ornately curved with a black roof and red wooden siding. We were all dressed in kimono, even Grandpa, all except for me — I wore the same white dress I had worn a month ago to my Oshichiya.

Usually Grandma would have carried me into my Omiyamairi — the closest the Japanese got to a baptism — but she had died about five years before I was born. So Grandpa carried me in. My mother was believed to still be carrying impurities while recovering from my birth. Traditional Japanese spirituality sees even menstruation as impure; you can imagine how they feel about childbirth.

Everything is very quiet surrounding a shrine. Even the people treading the inside are soft-spoken.

The inside was spacious and silent, the walls softly lined with screens and wooden siding. We met up with a Shinto priest in robes, who was doing Omiyamairi every hour, on the hour. He made his first prayer, clutching prayer beads as he put his hands together, "In the name of Mutou Ruri, born June 4th, daughter of Mutou Hideyashi and Mutou Akiko, granddaughter of Mutou Sugoroku, living at Kame Games in Domino City, Japan."

Next he chanted a sutra prayer giving thanks to the gods for letting me be born and keeping my mother safe during the birth. He prayed a third time for my good health, success, and happiness in the days and years to come. The whole thing took less than five minutes.

Then, me in my grandfather's arms, my grandfather and my parents all went up to the altar, knelt, and bowed. Bowing was a form of greeting in Japan, a sign of mutual respect between two people and not a sign of subservience, but it was done without fanfare and it was not always done equally. People bowed in accordance with their rank among the people they were with. A very important person might simply incline his head. A very junior person might bow very deeply. My family, of course, bowed very low to the gods when they knelt before the altar.

My parents offered tamagushi to the gods at the altar. It was a traditional Shinto offering — a sakaki-tree branch decorated with strips of paper, silk, and cotton. At Shinto weddings and funerals, tamagushi was also offered to the kami — the gods.

To end the ceremony, a red wooden cup with sake wine in it was distributed between my parents and grandfather, and drunk. Then they stood to their feet and my Omiyamairi was over. My family gathered outside in front of the shrine to smile and have our picture taken, me in my grandfather's arms. It was our first full family portrait taken together.

When we passed over the bridge, back down the pathway, and onto the city streets again, the sheer noise of city life assaulted the senses quite noticeably. It was as if one had literally passed from one world and into another.

My family put up with my fussing and crying as we all went out for a celebratory summer lunch at an outdoor cafe together. My mother covered me and her chest with a blanket as she jiggled me and breastfed me from her place in the outdoor cafe seat.

My introductions to the world were now over. I was one month old.


End file.
